


You don't Have to

by evilwearsabow



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (mentions of period typical homophobia and sexism), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Pansexual Bucky Barnes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Steve, Skinny!Steve, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Winter Soldier Bucky, demi-romantic steve rogers, no one dies, semi-stalker bucky barnes, shrinkyclinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:21:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3589326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilwearsabow/pseuds/evilwearsabow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy Carter was the Captain America during the WWII desperation for a poster boy. Thats right, boy, but Bucky and Howard tricked the bigwigs into putting Peggy into that serum contraption. And out came the biggest wave of female glory did you ever see. The only problem being, Bucky  still fell off the train, Peggy crashed into the antarctic. </p><p>Only one of them managed to come back from their woes.</p><p>Bucky Barnes.</p><p>Here is the story of how he met a skinny little punk from Brooklyn. And fell hopelessly in love for the second time in his no-good life. </p><p>(explicit for sex in later chapters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bucky Barnes is a big pile of crap

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of PTSD, extreme violence but nothing gory or too bloody. (Otherwise I'd tag it with archive warnings.) Some period-typical homophobia. But, alas, this takes place in 2016. I want this to be multichaptered even though I could easily write this all up in one shot. I think this deserves its own page.
> 
> Anyhow, let me know how it goes...

When he walked out of that courthouse four years ago, he didn't do it with his head held high.

He didn't have it bent down in solemnity either.

It wasn't out of pride or sense of arrogance (despite what the news might gossip.)

No, something deep inside that told him. Barnes, Barnes is'okay pal, you made it this far and you didn't really do anything wrong. Don't let the other guy tell you that.

The other guy that is you but _isn't_ you so it's okay?

"Listen, man, you need to listen. I know, this is hard. I didn't go through _hydra-nazi_ brainwash, I can't even begin to understand what this is like for you. I've talked to POW's, I've heard the gospel truth, and what you're telling me? Almost word for word the same except... less bad ass arm and Soviet Spy work."

Bucky's cold face was shadowy and pale. Unshaven for weeks due to a number of incomparable psychological ailments, undernourishment, insomnia. Probably all having to do with one another in some way, shape or form. His eyes were unmoving while Sam tried to pin it to him.

"The point is, these people? Who've been through similar things? Some weren’t able to move on, some had to walk out, some can't shake it, but if there's anything I know from that past of yours from theirs. From what Natasha tells me about you? I think you've got what it takes, and no one here, thinks you're guilty of anything."

A movement of icy moons, between two tired eyelids. Bucky has to let his mind roll over the information. He's heard people tell him it's not his fault. But this Sam guy, sitting here, all clean cut and yet with the eyes of a soldier. He knows'm. It's clear, and almost trained within him to recognize.

Probably, is, actually, and while that thought makes him sick to his stomach. The thought of all he's done under the mindset of a a different person;

No, not a 'different' person, no, to this day, he won't cop it up to that. Because he can remember everything, remember how it felt, remember his orders, and certain or more recent mission proceedings. Not just the missions but his reason. What they told him his reason was.

That was his life, his purpose, and it was so terribly wrong.

"You didn't know, Bucky." Sam says, with caring eyes, strong presence. Right here, the Winter Soldier can tell Sam forgot to brush his teeth this morning. Hasn't had anything to eat, hasn't shot a weapon in at least two weeks, maybe two and a half by the markings on his thumbs and forefingers.

He's got no nervous ticks, but is most likely a sufferer of PTSD.

Buck shifts in his seat. As he was sitting up military straight and poised. Now, he leans forward, lets his elbows rest on his knees and scrubs his hands over his face because this is a whole lot of shit to deal with. No one on the planet deserves this much shit on their plate. Course, Bucky will deal with anything that’s tossed his way, because to his core, he believes he deserves it.

"You were there, but you didn't know, and they can prove that with Dr. Banners findings, and all the piles of hydra paperwork they've got locked up in suitcases... Bucky."

"We'll figure that out after we get the verdict."

"Bucky..."

"Sam."

The whimpering sound of his voice is what drew the falcon to a halt. Sam lets his gaze linger for a minute till turning his face to groan and rub at the bridge of his nose.

"You know, you're more difficult than you take credit for."

"Suppose I always was a pain'n'the ass..."

"Huh, and here I thought you were the sugar sweet debonair commando that had all the luck with the hot girls?"

Buck frowns one moment, shrugs his shoulder once. "Not just the girls, pal."

Sam's brows hit the high note and make his forehead wrinkle up, obvious surprise but nothing that spoke of distaste.

"Yeah? Well..." Bucky waits for it, some kind of remark about fairies or something stupid.

"Damn, Buck, just got me there..." Chuckling, smiling wide.

"Remember I told you about Riley?"

Bucky's expression squints up, "Yeah? Your old partner...pilots right?"

"Riley and I..."

Then it dawns upon him, oh.

Oh.

"Gosh, I... well, gee, shit that’s really shitty pal..."

Sam's lips purse into a flat line, he waves it off. "No, I'm the one who brought it up, but, I just don't tell everyone for...obvious reasons... but yeah. He was, something else."

Buck winces, cause he feels bad for being all vagrant about his sexuality. "Yeah? I never found anyone that stuck, it really wasn't like it is now..."

A complete look of understanding on Sam's face, somehow, relaxes Bucky up a bit.

"Well, we gonna start gaggling like a couple of fairies? Or can we move on. I gotta court date to make in a few hours so..."

Taking it with ease, Sam moves on with a short jovial little eye roll. "Okay, Okay, I get it. Just, you gotta promise me something?" Looking hopeful, even as Bucky had already gotten up to leave. He's in federal prison regs, ankles and hands in cuffs, two security right out the door.

If Sam Wilson wasn't an avenger, you could bet your ass they'd be in the room.

"Don't submit yourself to a lifetime of guilt. Even if the verdict does go south, and it wont, but I want you to promise." Looking up hopefully at James, who's hair is long and shaggy. A bit greasy under the shabby florescent lights, and dim, grey, location.

James of course, is nothing but an almost-blank sheet of paper. Like someone who took the time to draw scenery but rubbed out lead with their palm, and all that is left, is smudge.

After licking crackled dry and red lips, Bucky answers. "Only if you sleep eight hours next time I see you, and you've eaten a full meal."

More surprise, almost a guarded look for half a second, it's like instinct when someone pulls out the proverbial floor from underneath you.

With a nervous chuckle, "Yeah, ha, yeah... you know what. I can promise you that."

Scratching the back of his well groomed head, "I'll be there, and for the next hearing... just, think about what I said."

If it were a different circumstance, he would have said something more. But he really doesn't need to, not now.

Didn't need to say anything when he was walked out of the court house and his cuffs were removed. His attorney shaking hands with people, talking. Receiving hugs from Natasha who seemed near-tears.

Couldn't be, it couldn't be.

He gives one long look to Sam, who'd clearly eaten, and brushed his teeth, and definitely slept more than last. But the eight hours is a mystery, even in the trained eyes of the winter soldier. Because right then not even sound computed.

Not-Guilty.

But why does he still see red in his ledger?

Why is everything still so dark?

He remembers this moment, because it was the pitch black moment that defined himself.

Why ignore everything he was? Why ignore the shit he's done?

There's still blood.

And he wakes up, like coming up from that pool of crimson, months later.

Coming up for air and he realizes, he's the winter soldier, he can perform a non-lethal shot at the most insane angle, with the math in his head. With no scope at some distances.

It was after a few psych evals, and learning he scored higher than Natasha. (Which, really, wasn't a shocker. Natalia could bullshit her way through anything.)

He was an Avenger.

Is, an Avenger.

Not. Guilty.

No, sure, he'd never stop feeling the opposite. It was attached and sewn into his body like his arm. Apart of him, but with a new purpose. Redemption.

Right the wrongs. Do what you can.

The only thing he really knows now, is he's not gonna kill anyone unless his life or other lives are on the line. Never again will it be behind their back, or in their sleep. In front of children, on, children.

No more of this 'black' clothing, his new uniform is midnight navy. He never cuts his hair. It doesn't feel right, so instead he ties it back into a pony tail. the Avengers-A sits on his shoulder in silvery pewter. Always wearing his mask, and now, for once. Without the 3 day no-shave.

A sign he's still Bucky Barnes.

But not the same person, no.

He is James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, Avenger, Winter Soldier.

 

 


	2. Steve Rogers is a real little shit (I mean forreal)

It's hot and fleshy in his mask, feels sweaty and humid even though there's a good breeze, 9 MPH, north to south, cool and refreshing over his face. The hair that was so carefully pulled back was now hanging low and nearly to his shoulders. A mess.

But fully armed from your head to your toes, didn't matter what breeze hit you in mid-June. It was hot as hell. Especially after shooting down an alien-morphed beast who tried to eat an entire building.

A building, that the Winter Soldier was actually posted on, and now is leaning all awkwardly in the sky. Bucky decided to make a break for it, after seeing Tony, or, 'Iron Man' take him down big time. Took him so damn long cause, of course, he was in Hawaii with Pepper for their Anniversary.

His relationship with tony was kind of odd, cause the guy helped fix his arm. Told him cool stories about Peggy's glory days as 'Miss America.' She preferred to be called Captain.

At any rate, he was grateful that the rest of his Friday night wouldn't be hogged up by ridiculous other-world creatures. With rows, and rows, of teeth.

Thor also seemed to help wrap it up anyhow.

He's a ways away from the site, a few loops and alley ways into another and another. Just how he remembered New York. But, so different. The color is different, darker somehow, except for at night. When all the lights shine incredibly bright and glow right off the bridge.

That's right, he has his very own apartment in Brooklyn, like he always dreamed of having. Yet here he is running away from his...friends... after a hit like that.

Stupid, but, sometimes, he needed to solitude. To walk so far the soles of his feet burned on the hot concrete. Yet its the ring of his phone that snaps him out of that certain ghosting head-space. As if he doesn't exist, just floats around and stares at buildings that used to be. Places that were different, sounded different. Smelled different.

The sun was slowly sinking in the sky. In fact, some of the buildings would block its harsh red glare entirely. Leaving a halo of light in some places and cool shade in others.

His phone goes off, and with a soft sigh, he flips it open to answer. (That’s right, he really hates those touch screen pieces of shit. Flip phones just made fucking sense, plus they automatically came with tetris. Score.)

"You know, it won't kill you to eat dinner with us after a mission."

"How sweet of you to remember me."

"Oh babe, I could never forget. You're much too important, Barnes."

He gazes up and realizes that was a bad idea, as the piercing light hits him in the face. Quickly he ducks out of the way, back pressed up to the wall.

Silence on the phone.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Yes."

"Should I call Fury?"

"No...No I can handle myself."

"You know, what happened to Clint..."

"Was my fault, Natalia." A sort of finality in his voice that made the line go quiet again, until he lets out a breath of hot air. The proverbial zephyr afloat he is.

"I should have kept his six..."

"And you did, you couldn't have seen that coming. No one did..."

Natalia, as much as he knew she loved him. Never bullshitted him for a second, so, he lets this mull over for a moment. She says something else;

"It's not your fault, Yasha, no one blames you."

Voice uncharacteristically soft, spoken in Russian, it soothed the soldier to his very bones.

"I know. I gotta go."

"I'll have a bottle of the best on the counter."

The line goes silent, for good, Buck snaps his phone shut.

It's when he heard it, in his little corner of trash.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

On an opposite curve of wall and alley corner, behind some large tank-like trash cans, Buck watches as some teenager gets his face decked straight up and in the nose by some tank of a guy with his pants loose around his hips.

"Doesn't..." Coughing, the kids wiping blood off of his face. Standing up straight, even though he nearly doubled over from the second punch to his gut.

"Really matter... she'toldy' to stop... no, means no, asshole."

Bucky doesn't intervene automatically, call it a New Yorker instinct. Instead, he kinda watches from the mellow dark blue shade. While in a splotch of clementine, a face is nearly blotched out with bright sun. At least from his angle, so he slides to a proper position.

"Why I oughta spill your brains out on the cement...ruining my evening like that!"

Ugly rat of a kid too, face beat in, blood from 3 holes in his face and bruised like bottle of pinot noir. He had on some weird collared shirt, red, with what looked like a target on the right side.

Getting a few more to the belly finally makes him roll onto the floor, hitting the ground with barely a thump. He lifts the trash can lid next to him immediately to block the next hit. Tosses the lid to get the ass hat right in the knees. His only problem, being that this guy is way too big and the twig has nowhere near enough power behind his throw to get a guy like him on the ground.

Receiving a kick to the face...and that, is when Bucky had enough.

"Hey you--"

The guy jumps and turns around. "What the fu--" It's the _Winter fucking soldier_. Mask over his mouth and nose. (He never wears the goggles unless they're overseas.)

Bucky tosses the man away from the prone, shaking, blonde kid in khakis.

"Think its cute to pick on a kid third your size, pal?" Bucky draws his gun. "Listen, I see your face, I have your wallet..." Lifting a piece of beat up leather, flipping it open. "And... now I know where you live. So you better listen close... walk to the station."

The guy gives him a long look of disbelief, this whole time, Bucky's eyes gave away this non-nonchalant uncaring disposition.

"Are you fuckin' outta your mind?"

Bucky pretends to look thoughtful, then looks over at the blonde. "Yeah, I might be. But, let me tell you something you fucking son of bitch... listen real good, you don't walk around that corner'n turn yourself in for assault. I'll buy the whole department donuts and have your face plastered on every goddamn wall in the fuckin' state...hows that for ya? Aye pal?"

Slowly, the guy looks more put out, lower lip quivering. When he gets pissed and whacks Bucky away, making a run for it.

When Buck turns around the little guy had barely managed to make it to his feet. Brushing blood off of his face, panting, heaving. "A-ah... my... my inhaler..." Bucky's face squinted up in confusion but notices the little inhalation device lying on a piece of trodden news paper.

"Uh, this?"

Wheezing, the guy, with the voice of a 28 year old dad (for chrissakes...) lifts it over his mouth a few inches away and slowly starts to breath in his medication. "Didn't need your help... before..." He coughs out, looking up with a pointed glare.

Dangerous.

It's what they spoke and that, is what shocked Bucky and made him stand here. Stare with intrigue masked in boredom.

"Yeah, sure, pal...whatever you say."

The blonde rolls his eyes over side ways, biting at his mouth. The blood had stopped flowing and now it was drying up gruesomely all over his face.

He'd ask why he picked the fight, but from the conversation it seemed pretty obvious.

"Why the hell didn't you just, run away? Ever heard of protecting your ass?"

That, made more tactical sense than getting your ass beat that was for sure.

"Cause s'just not what I do... and...s'none of your business anyway."

Then, it surprises him, doesn't know why, that this kid asks no questions. Doesn't ask him about the suit or the mask or if he really is who he's dressed as. Or ask for some stupid autograph. Nope, nothing. Just brushes himself off, picks up his messenger bag. Starts off in the direction Bucky came out of.

He had a voice like a demigod and a body like a pixie, and yet Bucky was entranced like he never had been before. Before the guy can slide around the corner.

"Hey, punk." Bucky calls after him, and the rat-terrier of a man doesn't turn around. Just turns his head.

"If you don't run, just hit'm in the nuts."

This, makes him turn around, stare slack jawed in disbelief.

"You ever actually been hit in the nuts or did they nuder those off of you too?"

Eluding to the arm.

Damn, that, well, that hit a place he didn't know he had; a nut shot with words if you will.

"What the hell did you just say to me?"

"You're obviously looking for a fight. Don't tell me how to pick my battles, you don't even know me. And I sure as hell don't know you 'pal.' This isn't karate kid and I don't need fighting lessons from a 100 year old robot."

"Gee, kid, I was just giving some advice."

"Advice I don't need. I'm not in charge of the countries greater good. You are, I'm just a kid from Brooklyn. If you've got a problem with how I do things, tell it to someone who cares."

Wow, okay, so this ugly little shit's just giving him a really rotten time.

Bucky could spit something right back, but, again, the Brooklyn in him tells him to take it for what it was. A major fuck you, and fuck off.

So, he turns around in complete silence then walks away.

He doesn't hear the guy turn to move, or walk away, or say anything. Nor does he see the way his face goes slack jawed, eyes blank while watching the soldier carry off.

What a stupid, mean, no good, _little shit._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, now remember folks. Steve is a tiny guy who is used to being treated lesser, used to being pushed around. Hope I didn't fuck that up... thank you all for the hits, the kudos, whichever. RnR please!


	3. Oh no, he's Hot...

Bucky didn't put all too much thought into that encounter. He really meets a lot of the worlds worst so he's learned to compartmentalize exactly what happened. The important parts, and make sure that asshat went to the station just as he asked.

Sure enough, when he called the department, they told him for sure he'd turned his own ass in just an hour after Bucky let him loose.

Pleased with his own handiwork, the assassin starts to shed himself of clothing. His ritual, starting the coffee maker, slipping into the shower that would probably scald anyone else but himself. It takes him barely 7 minutes. Too much water drives him out of his mind. As he paced around the city earlier quite enough and out of his mind. Right now was reserved for reflection.

Cup of coffee, some late-night television, before bed.

He likes it dark, not an inch of light. The windows have dark light-canceling curtains for a reason. It's hard to sleep with so much on your mind. Sometimes he likes to pretend he is still the winter soldier in these moments. With no objective other than to receive adequate rest for another days mission.

Ignoring the pang of, just, something, in his stomach because the bed is large but very empty.

He remembers, when there was at least one body to warm the bed.

Stark was a generous guy, an asshole, but generous with his lovers. Didn't fuck off right after getting fresh, just, lingered, slept. What really did piss off the soldier, was when he left stupid little halfhearted notes with a wad of dough.

Twice Bucks monthly salary.

Made him feel really fucking used up, and then sometimes it was expected and rolled right off of his shoulders. Course now, he wonders if he's even capable of maintaining an honest to god relationship.

"You gotta light?" Says a hazy voice over the sound of rain dipping over cabin windows. This guy got a stinken cabin out here on a base. Just to prove he could.

It's chilly but Bucky's wearing uniform pants, reading a book as he sits off the side of the bed. Dog-tags in his mouth. "Yeah, pal, back pocket." He murmurs.

"Aww c'mon? Can't do a guy a favour?"

"No, I think I've done one too many favours." Light sarcasm in his voice, Howard scoots up to sit with his back against the headboard. "There's no such thing... but, if you can give me a light and let me stew for a bit. I can always return'm."

He remembers how he turned around and lights a match for him, and they remove eye contact for the split second Bucky gets the cigarette lit.

Through a waft of smoke, he remembers the shudder of laughter in his aching ribs. "You're a real bastard, y'know that howie? No one likes a prick..." He mutters scratching his head, then scooping his hair back. A shit eating grin now on his face. Getting up to get the rest of his uniform on.

Howard looked distressed, "Oh now, come'on you're leaving so soon... sides..." He eyes Bucky rather affectionately. "No one here said they didn't like a good prick." Bucky looks with disbelief, then pleasure. Cause Stark is putting out his cig, pulling him over by his belt and undoing it again.

Both of them laughing...

It's real, a memory, in his head.

Along with a few more that float around something fierce.

Bucky turns his head, and despite there being a humans worth of complete darkness. The man can still see a vague outline. Everything in its place, and a cold empty spot beside him.

"Gotta stop thinking about ghosts. Doesn't do anyone good, Barnes." He tells himself, and curls over onto his belly, wrapping his arms around a pillow.

When he closes his eyes for good, exactly what he expects happens. Slow surrounding darkness, imaginary icy air sweeping through his system. Hands on the glass. Knowing no one will save him. No one ever could.

Then wakes, unexpectedly, however, to the sound of his phone going off.

ACDC blaring loud as hell in a contorted noise, it sounded closer to the radios they had back then.

"S-shit!" He bolts upright, like coming up for his first breath out of cryo. Whipping around to grab his phone, flip it open.

"Not too tired Barnes?"

A low voice seeming somewhat under duress.

"Uh, no, not that I can say. You alright Barton?"

"Just a pulled muscle; got a couple of scratches..."

"God, aren't I glad to hear that..."

Scritching over the stubble on his face, "I mean, that you're gonna be fine."

"Mhm, yeah, good to know... listen buddy that big guy yesterday? Apparently was the mommy... and now we've got 3...oh... 4 that’s a new one... to our problem. Not nearly as big butghhh..." Clearly Clint doing something dangerous.

"Could use your help..."

It's a snap, Bucky jumps up out of bed. "Be there soon; general location?"

"Main? Augh-- 3rd'n somethin'..."

"Got it." With a snap shut, Bucky starts suiting up, hair tight up into a pony tail once more as he heads back for the street.

It's a crazy kind of hell that’s reminiscent of the entirety of James Barnes' life. The chaos inflicted by these huge fuckers is no less than the soldier imagined. He comes marching in, drudging over measuring the wind with the wetness of his eyes. Climbing up fire escapes till he could get a proper angle.

"Hey buddy; what took you so long?" Sam swoops down and fends off a spray of spike-like objects covered in an alien like goo.

"Took a cab, you know New York traffic..."

Sam laughs at him, jutting backwards to shoot a few rounds into that son of a bitch who's screeching loudly and drawing people out of their cars and homes in terror. With a full round about he has his sniper rifle loaded, he sits and with simple calculations:

First shot, barely skids past it's moving flesh.

Second, third, fourth, all hits on the same target. Vibranium tipped shells that easily take the bastard down.

"Okay, so who's been taking my job?" Natasha says dryly over the com that’s on way too low of a volume.

"Nothings taken Natalia, unless there's something you all want to tell us about you and the bird."

"Eagle one or Eagle two?" Sam scoffs.

"Eagle tw-- what the hell does that mean again?" Everyone's laughing on the com, when Thor shows up. (Really it wasn't expected...) Then takes care of business with garish lightening, frying the rest of those suckers big time.

"Job taken care of, you owe me a drink. Barton." Probably couldn't hear Bucky over the laughter. But when he slides down one escape, hops over another shoddy one. Some kid, staring at him with big azure eyes through a window and they maintain contact for half a second while he slides and when he lands he can't help but be frozen in place.

He's seen those eyes before.

Ignoring the feeling in his stomach he starts to walk off, when he can hear the window open and a familiar voice but he can't tell as the wind catches. "Wait!"

Buck halts, looking up at the 5th floor through curious eyes.

"Just! Wait One second!"

Obviously he waits, and more than just a second, when out the back door of the first floor comes a teenager maybe?

"Hey, I didn't... I didn't really get to properly thank you...for er, yesterday..."

Holy. Fucking. Shit. He's smokin' hot.

His voice though and the way he holds himself kind of scrappy and weird? Gets him.

Buck snaps out of his silent phase, "G'aahh shit, you're that ass hole kid I almost had to scrape off of the floor yesterday."

A little bit of blonde hair trickles over the kids face, the 'kid' with a really deep and mature voice. It's got Buck on his toes that’s for sure. The hair cut reminds him of 1945, which is weird considering, and yet he's breathless somehow.

"Y-yeah, I am..." Waving awkwardly, shoving his hands in his cut-off khaki pant-pockets. "M'just, sorry... I lashed out, said some nasty things. I don't take too well to help... or assholes..."

Buck's brows raise at that.

"N-not that you were being one, just, that guy... picking on some girl... see I..." They catch eye contact again when Steve lifts his head. "I don't like bullies." Said with a lot more confidence and some spunk to add to it.

"And I kinda was behaving like one. And after all you do for New York, hell there wouldn't be a Brooklyn so... I'm sorry. If, there's anyway I could make up for it."

Bucky's scoffing under his mask, but his eyes are relatively unreadable, so the kid gets a little more sheepish. Face and ears going red, he opens his mouth to speak, and then turns around to walk back into the complex when;

"How old even are you?" A blunt question at a near shout, Steve whips around just in time for heavy wind to hit his face, tossing aside blonde hair the way its supposed to be parted. He takes note of how beautiful this guy /actually/ is. Plump rosie-pink lips, eyes like the pacific and a chiseled face from something out of marble.

"Uh, twenty six..." Brows pursed as he worries at his lower lip, the Winter Soldier wants to be the one fussin' over those lips. He'd do it any day; maybe with something else for this little shit to fuss about and...

Woah! Calm down Barnes!

"You're shittin' me pal... thought you were 20 at the most..."

"Saying that cause I'm small? Cause we'll have a real prob--"

"Nah-nah just, you surprised me s'all... er." Bucky side holds his rifle aimed at the sky, barely realizing how freaking intimidating it must look. Right around this guys /height/ himself, and fully loaded.

"Steve, Steve Rogers, you?" Offering a hand nonetheless and looking wary. But, not afraid. Which also surprised the soldier.

"I'm the Winter Soldier."

"Well yeah, I know that... but your name? Doesn't it start with a J?"

"James, James Buchanan Barnes... my friends call me Bucky."

"So, does that mean I get to call you Bucky?" Steve says voice barely audible, the soldier ponders on that for a moment.

"Only if you promise me, that if you see a total ass hole like you did yesterday, you'll let it go and walk away?"

Steve snaps his hand away and looks scandalized. "Fuck no, you outta your mind--"

Bucky lets out a laugh, surprising Steve of course.

"Don't worry about it, yeah, call me Bucky." Over his intercom he can hear their next rendezvous point.

"--Gotta go." Steve doesn't say anything and that’s a surprise, but what is a surprise...

"Wait, was that a test?" Steve looks just as scrappy and small from far away as he does up close if not more.

The Winter Soldier doesn't answer, just laughs, loudly, at least until he's halfway to the checkpoint. He may have had one thing right before.

Steve Rogers is a little shit, but he's _far_ from ugly.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GSFDGAFGAFG... that is all.


End file.
